


you know I got a boy

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Shallura mentions whoops forgot to tag that, Childhood Friends, Fake Dating, First Kiss, IT'S GAY, Keith is a dying college student, Knife Seances, Lance just exaggerates, Lance needs a filter for his mouth, M/M, Nyma as the ex girlfriend, PINING KEITH, but fight me keith would def talk his problems out to his knives, but she's not that bad, not really - Freeform, so is lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: If there's one thing Keith can always count on it's that, as impulsive as he is, Lance's big mouth will always, always get them into worse trouble.(Or: Keith pines, until he doesn't, and honestly, Lance probably has some issues to work out regarding his ex.)





	you know I got a boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viraseii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viraseii/gifts).



> title from This Kiss by Carly Rae Jepsen
> 
> Na Na Na belongs to MCR though if you don't know that I'm truly sorry because if my uncultured ass knows it then you've been living under a rock fam sorry I don't make the rules
> 
> Happy Borth Viv. Hope you have a great day<3
> 
> now i'm gonna go knock tf out it 5am i've memed my way through this entire fic jesus christ
> 
> also i didn't proofread jack shit

“ _Shit, shit, shit_ , here she comes. Quick, act natural.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“ _I said act natural_.”

And that's how it starts.

It escalates from there, far quicker than Keith would have imagined. One second, Lance is panicking about the fact his ex is walking over with a “dazzling” smile on her face and “gorgeous” hair and then the next, he's blurting something stupid like:

“And this is my boyfriend, Keith.”

For a second, Keith doesn't register the words. He's only barely paying attention to the conversation, anyway, because it's in the middle of October but it's also Texas, so what he really wants right now is to melt into the ground or maybe climb the gym fence and dive for the pool. Allura probably wouldn't appreciate that but, what can you do. It's not like she'd pay much attention, anyway, considering the only reason she wanted that lifeguard job was to ogle Shiro when he goes swimming as a cool-down after a weightlifting session.

But then, his brain snaps into focus, and the girl—Nikki? Nope, definitely not right—turns to him with a curious gleam in her eyes. He feels his heart stutter in his chest, and he's not sure if it's from the shock, scrutiny, or the words themselves.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, voice calm and fluid.

Keith stays perfectly still. “Likewise,” falls from chapped lips, but there's no tone.

Lance, very subtly, elbows him hard in the ribs.

Keith resists the urge to stomp on his foot in retaliation, but he's not a _total_ dick. Then again, Lance _did_ tell him to act natural.

But Keith's reaction doesn't really matter anyway, because Nikki-Or-Whoever is turning back to Lance with a smile. “You should enter in the couples games that Declan is holding. It's our Halloween event this year.”

“The dorm?” Keith asks, brow furrowing.

“Well, yeah. I'm the event planner for the dorm council. You should come! It'll be fun.”

“Sure,” Lance blurts, because he never stops to think about anything that comes out of his mouth.

Keith almost chokes on his own spit. What the fuck did Lance just commit them to.

More importantly: what the fuck did Lance just commit them to, _as a couple_.

“See you then!” Not-Nikki says, and flips her hair over her shoulder. “I've gotta get to class. Bye Lance! Nice meeting you Keith.”

And with that, she flounces away.

“Evil, conniving woman,” Lance mutters under his breath.

“What the fuck, Lance,” Keith says.

“I panicked!” Lance says, turning and flailing his arms in Keith's vicinity.

Keith cocks his head at him, stare deadpan.

He pushes Lance into the nearest bush, taking a distinctly profound pleasure from the high-pitched scream Lance lets out as he flounders and gets leaves absolutely fucking everywhere.

“Sorry,” Keith says, monotone. “I panicked.”

 

Pidge lets out the third cackle of the night as Keith concludes retelling the day's events. Well, one event. In particular. “You're _kidding_ ,” they say.

“Dead serious,” Keith mutters, hiding his face behind his bangs.

“Oh my God,” Pidge wheezes out. “This is stunning. You're fake-dating your crush.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Keith hisses, and scrambles to find the nearest throwable object. He settles on his eraser, and chucks it towards Pidge.

Between the laughter and dodging the projectile, they nearly topple off the small study room table where they're currently perched. The eraser thuds against the whiteboard behind Pidge and tumbles to the floor. Pidge remains unfazed.

“Keith,” they say, planting a hand down in front of him. Keith scowls, partially because they're covering up the physics problem he was working on, but mostly because he knows he's never going to live this down. “ _Keith_ ,” Pidge stresses. “You're literally living a gay fanfiction trope.”

“Are these walls soundproof?” Keith asks, glaring up at Pidge through his bangs. “Will anyone hear if I throttle you?”

“No, but Matt will _probably_ start asking questions when I don't show up for Dirty Martin's on Monday. He knows I can't exist more than one week at a time without corn nuggets and milkshakes.”

Keith scowls down at their hand and pokes it with the sharp part of his pencil. They at least have the decency to pull their hand back, though they do so with a sense of indifferent ease, as if it's a favor. Keith continues frowning at his paper.

“Oh, come on,” Pidge says. “Lighten up, this might actually move things along.”

“Please don't,” Keith says. And then: “ _Fuck_.”

“What?”

“Pass me my eraser, I fucked up.”

Pidge leans over to look at Keith's paper. “You're missing a... wait. What. What the fuck, Keith. What did you do.”

“Why... Would I know.”

“I... Why is this here? What is this? WHY?”

“I DON'T KNOW. HELP ME.”

“You owe me.”

“You've laughed at my expense for the past twenty minutes.”

Pidge opens their mouth, and then closes it. “Fair point.” They reach over for Keith's notebook and tear off the page.

“What the fuck, Pidge,” Keith deadpans.

Pidge balls up the paper and throws it over their shoulder. “Yeah, there's no saving that.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Consider that I wasn't talking about the physics problem.”

“Fuck off, Pidge.”

 

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance hisses, and slides a folded piece of paper across the table at him.

“What.”

Lance scoots the paper a bit closer, fingers stretching out, and Keith glances up if only for the reason of running his gaze up the lean muscle of Lance's arm. Which was a mistake. Because now he's thinking about Lance when he _should_ be studying for Chemistry. Acids can suck his ass, though, if he's honest, he'd much prefer Lance doing that.

Annnnnd... Mind's in the gutter now.

Lance raises his eyebrows and pointedly looks between Keith and the paper. “Open it,” he whispers.

Keith sighs, rolls his eyes, and indulges the idiot. Definitely because he's a good friend. Definitely not because Lance is deceptively charming and he looks cute with his brow furrowed. Keith picks up the paper and unfolds it, only to have Lance lurch forward and slam his hand over Keith's arm.

“Not so high up!”

“What, why?”

Keith pries Lance's hand off his arm.

“I had to bribe Hunk to get this sort of info. Do you know how much laundry duty I owe him? Do you know how much that man _sweats_? He lifts weights with Shiro, and lemme tell you Hunk _does not_ take it easy.”

“What the fuck, Lance.”

“What?”

Keith rolls his eyes so hard his head moves with it. He sets the paper down on the table and finally reads it.

The list is as follows:

Two truths and a lie (group)

Egg relay (partners)

That one thing where you lock elbows (partners)

How well do you know them (partners)

Karaoke duets (partners)

Piggy-back races (partners)

“What does this mean,” Keith asks, squinting at the paper.

“What do you mean 'what does this mean,'” Lance echoes. “Keith! These are the events for the couples night! Hunk's an RA at Declan; he's co-hosting the event.”

“That would explain why these all sound like dumb kindergarten games.”

“Well, yeah, but anyway, _good news_.”

“That exists when you're around?”

“Shut,” Lance huffs. He's still sprawled across the table, reaching towards Keith. He looks up with that sort of wounded puppy look, blue eyes warm with emotion and lip jutted out in a pout.

Keith feels his heart stutter.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lance says, dropping the act. “Point is, they can't actually restrict the event to couples because, like, exclusivity dorm rules and all that. Which also means they can't do anything crazy like make us kiss or something.”

Is that so horrible?

“Right,” Keith says, swallowing. “Great.”

“Exactly!” Lance says, and suddenly he bolts up. “Also! That means that Nyma just said all that shit to get under my skin! Because she thinks I still have a thing for her!”

So _that's_ her name. Keith quirks an eyebrow at Lance. “And do you?”

Lance makes a disgusted face. “No! She dumped me for some asshole on the football team. Actually, I shouldn't even say that, Rolo's a pretty chill guy, honestly, but like, y'know ex drama and stuff. I'm supposed to hate him on principle.”

“Right,” Keith says, and drops it, because he's not sure if he really wants a better answer.

“Point is,” Lance continues. “We can do this. Just one night and then we're _home free_.”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters, and turns back to his Chemistry textbook.

Lance leans back in his chair, looking smug. “It helps to have friends in high places.”

“You're an idiot,” Keith tells him, even though his heart is patting rapidly against his ribs and he definitely isn't going to be able to focus on Chemistry now.

Sighing, Keith flips the cover of his textbook over, letting it fall with a satisfying thud. “Coffee?”

“Oh, God, please,” Lance says, bolting out of the chair. “I've been waiting for you to give up for the past ten minutes.”

Christ, Keith's so weak for this boy.

 

Things were going fine, right up until the “How well do you know your partner?” quiz.

And by that, Keith means that it's going _too_ well.

“Alright, next question!” Nyma announces on the mic. “Partner's favorite movie!”

Lance stares him down across the table they're sitting at and mouths: _You heathen_.

Keith sticks his tongue out at Lance and pulls his the small whiteboard for his answer closer to him to keep Lance from seeing. At the top he writes his answer— _Conspiracy Theory_ , because who doesn't love that movie it's fucking classic and Lance can suc—nope, not finishing that train of thought. For the answer for Lance, he scribbles out _My Fair Lady_ , because Lance is a romantic and a dork and also has had a crush on Audrey Hepburn for as long as Keith has known him, which would be... Jesus fuck, nine years, now.

Keith feels old.

“Alright, time's up!” Nyma calls, and Keith and Lance both flip their boards around.

They stare across the table, comparing answers to check if they're right, and, yup, there's another two points for their team.

Too well. They know each other too well. Favorite movie, favorite ice cream flavor favorite band. Even the more abstract things: most embarrassing high school memory, and Keith has to laugh because that's so easy, he was _there_. Celebrity crushes. Most prized possession. Number of siblings. Middle names.

The sound of Lance's laughter. The twinkle of his eyes. The difference between his pout when he's actually sad and when he's being indignant. The pride held in his shoulders when he does well; the slump, when things go wrong.

Keith's memorized him, and he never even realized.

He's so, so fucked.

“Last question! Aww, this is too easy: favorite color.”

Keith moves towards the board, and then freezes.

Does he have a favorite... Yes. The answer is yes. It's the ocean on a summer's day, the sky unmarred by clouds. It's staring back at him across the table, fond and competitive all at once. Lance puts the board on the table, face-down, waiting for time to be called.

And Keith is frozen.

Lance quirks an eyebrow at him, and Keith swallows hard, wishing his chest didn't feel so tight.

But Lance doesn't know any of that.

So he slowly uncaps the expo marker, and instead of “blue,” he writes “red.” Because that's the only logical solution. Most of his stuff is red. His bike is red, his favorite jacket—an answer already used, in response to “most prized possession.” So Lance should know. Lance _should_ know.

Underneath his answer, he hesitates, only for a moment, and then writes out “blue.”

“Okay, answers up!”

 

They don't get any points that round.

But what throws Keith for a loop? Lance—Lance, who wrote at the top of his board: “ _violet_.”

Because, first of all, what kind of art school bullshit is that, writing “violet” instead of “purple” like every other normal human being. And secondly, more importantly: _why_?

 

Karaoke is probably the bane of Keith's existence.

But Lance is _living_. And it's fine, because Lance takes the stage and Keith manages not to stumble over any of the words of _Na Na Na_. He's mostly sure he still wants to die by the end of it, but at least the crowd sang along with them.

There's not a clear winner after Karaoke because... Karaoke doesn't really have winners, but everyone generally has fun, and it takes Keith's mind off the enigma of Lance's last quiz answer.

Lance throws his arm over Keith's shoulder, leaning towards him. “You should sing more,” he says, while someone on stage sings along to some sort of musical. “You have a nice voice.”

Keith feels his cheeks heat. “No thanks.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance whines. “You're good.”

Keith dips his head down, hiding behind his bangs. Lance's laughter is silent, but Keith can feel it against his side, vibrating with warmth against Keith's shoulder.

 

“I am _not_ ,” Lance says emphatically. “I repeat— _not—_ carrying your ass.”

Keith crosses his arms and leans back, incredulous. “Excuse me? As if your noodle arms could lift me anyway.” Total lie. Total lie. Lance is a swimmer, all lean muscle hidden underneath tanned skin.

“Excuse!” Lance squawks. “I could bench two of you!”

“Oh yeah? Why then carrying me should be easy.”

Lance levels a glare at Keith, and then holds up his fist.

“You're fuckin' on,” Keith quips, and holds out his fist.

“It's on _shoot_ , not on _three_ , you cheating fucker. Don't you pull that shit again,” Lance says.

Keith narrows his eyes at Lance. “One.”

“Two.”  
“Three.” Keith resists the urge to reveal his hand, if for no other reason than to piss off Lance.

“Shoot!” Lance screeches, way louder than socially acceptable.

Scissors versus rock.

Keith wins. He stares at their hands, and blinks.

“We didn't figure out what winner gets,” Keith says.

“Winner carries.”

“Nuh-uh,” Keith huffs. “Winner gets to pick.” He smirks. “Carry me.”

“I hate you.”

Keith grins.

Lance reaches his arms above his head, and then uses one to brace the others to stretch his shoulders. “If I drop you, it's your fault.”

“If you drop me, I'm taking you down with me.”

“Fair enough,” Lance allows.

 

They don't win.

But it doesn't matter. Keith feels the brush of air against his cheeks, face hidden in Lance's neck. Laughter bubbles from his chest, unbidden, breathing against Lance's skin and inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Keith's hyperaware of Lance's hands under his thighs, the curve of Lance's shoulders on his back, the press of Lance's waist between his thighs. His heart is pounding, exhilarated and reckless. He feels stupidly invincible.

Lance basically does drop him at the end, and Keith stumbles unceremoniously from Lance's back, breathless.

And then Lance straightens, panting, and meets his gaze, and Keith can't breathe for an entirely different reason.

And holy fucking shit, Pidge was right. He _is_ the main character of a fanfiction.

All he wants to do in that exact moment is kiss Lance.

He could do it. He could write it off as just... helping Lance play the part. And then he remembers Lance talking about how relieved he was they wouldn't have to kiss, and the train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

“Okay, we've tallied the points...” Nyma's voice blares from the speakers. “And the winner is...”

But for some reason, when Keith's brain said “STOP THIS,” his body didn't get the fuckin' memo. Maybe his impulse control is shit. Maybe it's the sound of Nyma's voice. Maybe it's the memory of Lance saying he definitely was over her. Maybe it's the way Lance's gaze stays trained on Keith, ignoring the crowd around them.

There's a heartbeat—no, two... Did a beat skip?—and Keith takes a step forward. He presses his lips to Lance's cheek, chaste and terrified and grateful all at once.

And then he runs.

 

“I'm dead.”

“You're fine.”

“I'm _dead_.”

“Keith, it's _fine_. You two have been friends for _years_. Even if it doesn't work out the way you want, I'm sure your friendship will survive.”

“He hates me,” Keith bemoans, laying splayed out on the weightlifting room floor. “ _I_ hate me.”

Shiro looks at him, unamused. “Do you need a hug?”

“Only if you'll suffocate me so I don't have to face him tomorrow.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro groans.

“I want my knives,” Keith states. “They don't judge me like this.”

Shiro crosses his arms. “I'm not judging. I'm only advising.”

“You're not helpful,” Keith informs him. “Knives are helpful. Do you think I could live in the jungle with just a knife? Where's the nearest jungle?”

Shiro puts his head in his hands, defeated. And then he snorts, and Keith realizes he's laughing. Laughing at Keith's pain.

“You're terrible,” Keith says, still laying flat on the ground. “You mock me.”

Shiro's shoulders shake with barely-contained laughter. He lowers his hands. “I'm sorry,” he wheezes out. “But I think you've picked up some of Lance's dramatics.”

“Oh God,” Keith whimpers. “I can't get rid of him.”

“Maybe that's a good thing,” Shiro says. “You two work well together.”

Keith tries to stifle the fond smile and probably fails. “Yeah. We make a good team.”

“So?” Shiro prompts. “Just ask him out.”

Keith whimpers and throws an arm over his eyes. “ _I'M DEAD_.”

“Oh, look, there's Lance.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith says emphatically, sitting up too quick and making his head spin. “Where?”

“God, you have it bad.”

“Shiro, you asshole, let me die in peace. Actually, no, I'm leaving. I'm going to convene with my knives.”

“Have a nice séance,” Shiro says cheerfully.

“I will, thank you and fuck you. Also, ask Allura out already you hypocrit.”

Keith prides himself on the very distinct shade of red Shiro goes.

 

Keith really, really, does not know how he got here.

One second he was cleaning his knives, contemplating buying the soonest plane ticket straight to the amazon, and then Hunk burst into his room and practically kidnapped him. Which isn't hard to do considering Keith is like half the size of Hunk and Keith plays with _knives_ for fuck's sake so he never locks his door, but still. Rude.

Anyway, so that puts him to now, standing in the middle of wherever the fuck this is... Is that the student union? Is he _behind_ the student union? Why? _Why_? Hunk plopped him here and _bolted_ too, so w...

 _Fuck_.

“Hey, man,” Lance says, soft. His hand comes up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Keith's throat is dry.

“I... uh, I think... I never really know what's going on in your head, y'know? But,” Lance clears his throat. “But I think I got the message yesterday? Tell me I'm wrong, and we can forget anything happened.”

Keith opens his mouth to speak, and no words come out. So instead he shakes his head.

“Okay,” Lance says, softly. “It's fine, I get it... It was a fluke, spur of the moment... I know how you are.”

Wait, what.

No, _no_ , that's not what he meant.

“Lance,” Keith blurts, finally. “No—I didn't—Not what I me... _Fuck it_.”

And this time, Keith's brain and body are working together. He reaches for Lance's hands and drags him closer. “I like you.”

Keith watches Lance's face. He watches as the downturn of Lance's lips turns into something quirked up, watches his eyes light up with hope.

“Oh thank God,” Lance breathes out, and he leans in close enough for his breath to fan across Keith's nose. “I think I would have combusted if I went another day without telling you.”

“Lance,” Keith says. “Shut up, please.”

“No, no, no, you don't get it,” Lance stresses, and he pulls a hand from Keith's and presses it to his cheek instead. Keith leans into it. “Nyma walked up last week and all I was thinking about was how jealous she'd be if you and I were together... Because we're good together.”

“That's kinda fucked,” Keith tells him.

Lance tilts his head to the side. “I mean... Yeah, probably. Look, man, I'm a dying college student and live off ramen, excuse me if my brain doesn't work all the time.”

“Masterful point,” Keith relents. “Okay, but really, please shut up.”

Lance grins cheekily, other hand sliding up Keith's arm and settling at his shoulder, just curving around his neck.

“Oh my fucking God, if you ask me to shut you up with a kiss, I'm out. This past week has literally had bad fanfiction tropes written all over it, and I'm pretty sure Pidge staged this entire thing such so they could see it happen in real life.”

Lance snorts, and then the laughter takes over. “I'm...” he manages between wheezes. “Really tempted... But also really mad how true that is, oh my God.”

“I—” Keith starts, and then he forgets the rest of what he's saying because Lance kisses him then and there, right in the middle of his fucking sentence because Lance is an asshole like that.

And honestly? Keith couldn't ask for anything better.

 


End file.
